


left in the cold — the shining (1980)

by cultclasserotic



Series: CULT CLASSIC SPINOFFS [1]
Category: The Shining (1980)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Foreshadowing, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Plot Twists, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26610370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cultclasserotic/pseuds/cultclasserotic
Summary: a mysterious girl shows up on the doorstep of the overlook hotel; what nightmarish horrors does she bring to the table?
Relationships: Jack Torrance/Original Female Character(s), Jack Torrance/Wendy Torrance
Series: CULT CLASSIC SPINOFFS [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935838
Kudos: 5





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> this is NOT a oneshot like my other works — it will feature multiple chapters. graphic depictions of violence, death, and gore will be present in multiple parts of this story.

Three days. That was how long it took for any strangers to turn up at the Overlook Hotel. The owner had warned of strays — homeless beggars wanting a room with nothing to show for it — and warned that it was _prohibited_ in his book. Yet, when it was a gorgeous young woman on the other side of the door . . . Jack couldn't resist. He had a vast history of infidelity; from outright cheating to late-night phone calls with various women who _weren't his wife._ He had spent almost the entirety of his marriage oozing false charisma to avoid exposing what went on behind closed doors. God forbid his reputation became tarnished by the public seeing what kind of grade-A piece of shit he actually was when all of that "family man" charm had been stripped away. He wasn't that unattractive unless he revealed his temper — his past outburst left his son riddled with bruises and adorning a dislocated shoulder. He promised that it was an honest mistake. 

The strange woman, Christine, had approached on a particularly cold night — a storm was on its way. Three loud knocks and a soft pleading tone was all it took for Jack to rush the girl inside. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, quickly rubbing her arms with his warm hands and pushing her damp hair out of her eyes.

 _"My God, you must be freezing! Sit down, sweetheart."_ The kind demeanor Jack displayed won her over immediately. She allowed him to guide her shivering body to the sofa in the lobby, stripping off her wet coat and wrapping her arms around herself in a desperate attempt to ward away the chill. A gash on her forehead caught Jack's attention, _"hey— you got a nasty scrape on ya— did you hurt yourself?"_ His tone was almost . . . condescending. Like she was a little girl. Christine looked confused, lightly tapping her forehead with her fingertips and wincing. 

_"Shit— I guess I did. I didn't notice it before. Guess it was too cold?"_ She gave a polite smile, _"I'm Christine— I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days? Just until the storm has passed. I normally wouldn't ask, but my car has gone kaput on_ me." That wasn't entirely true, but the truth seemed too crazy to wrap her head around — she couldn't _find_ her car. It vanished. All she remembered was waking up at the base of the hill that the hotel stood on. She gave a pleading look to the man, folding her hands together. Jack paused for a moment, a devilish grin encasing his lips as he sighed and stomped his foot in mock-reluctance. 

_"Okay, fine, you won me over."_ He sat down at her side, draping his jacket over her shoulders and placing a kiss on her hand. _"How could I ever say no to a pretty face like yours?"_ He was the worst. Scum of the Earth! Christine usually kept her distance from men like this — especially ones with wedding rings. It wasn't like she had a choice . . . or a better alternative. " _I'm Jack Torrance, your delighted host."_

_Christine would be **eternally** grateful. _


	2. CLICK, CLACK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mature themes.

It had been only a few hours since Christine showed up on the doorstep of the Overlook — she couldn't seem to get rid of that awful chill she arrived with. Perhaps she was ill? No, she had been feeling fine before she woke up on a hill. She could barely remember anything before that. Maybe she suffered an episode? Had she been drinking? No, not to her knowledge. She used to battle with alcoholism but hadn't overdone it in years. Not to say it was impossible, but improbable, to say the very least. A sleepless night was clearly in the works for her. She rose from her bed, which was stiff and too dusty — did they ever clean up in this room? An awful smell lingered from the vents. Christine cupped her face and sighed, dropping her room key — heavy, bronze, and engraved with the number **33** — into her robe pocket before walking out into the dimly lit hallway. Her bare feet plunged into the brash 20s carpeting, her mildly exposed legs feeling out of place among all of the elegance the hotel displayed. A crimson robe — that Jack gifted to her — enveloped her form, comparing nicely to the golden and cherry tones of the decor. The faint clacking of a typewriter could be heard as she descended a few steps into the lobby's entryway; click, clack, click clack click. The gentle pats of her footsteps blended in with the harsh, erratic tapping — it was irregular, unsteady — like whoever was tapping away had no idea where their sentences were going.   
  
Christine peered down into the lobby from atop the marble staircase, careful not to draw attention to her presence. She sat down, knees to her chest as she observed Jack typing away at a table in the center of the room. He looked so focused, brow furrowing every so often as he assessed his writing. His lips uttered words that she couldn't precisely place. A few more minutes passed before Jack abruptly straightened his back and looked up to the stairs, spotting Christine. Panicked, she scrambled to her feet and gathered her robe down over her thighs. "Shit— I'm sorry, I got disoriented trying to find, um— the ballroom? I heard it was a— a sight for sore eyes—" She stammered through her falsehoods, nervously cracking her knuckles and walking down the stairs in what she knew was defeat. Jack gave a chuckle and eyed her body as she got closer, waving a hand in a relaxed manner.   
  
"Don't worry about it, doll."  Jack grinned, "not like I was getting shit done around here. Writer's block is on my case once again. " He seized the half-empty sheet of yellowed parchment out of the typewriter, crumpling it up and hurling it in an almost overflowing trash bin. She recalled the struggle well; sitting for hours, staring at the same few sentences, scrutinizing them over and over. It could drive a person mad. "Couldn't sleep?" His hand grazed Christine's knee — she chuckled nervously and nodded.   
  
"Yeah— um— it's been moderately overwhelming trying to figure out my sense of self recently." She paused, reaching to clasp Jack's hand in hers briefly. It was a soft, vulnerable gesture. One that she would never engage in. Something in the brisk air, the absence of Jack's wedding ring, and the dark circles encasing his eyes just made the moment feel surreal. "I've been thinking about how I could repay you for your . . . _overwhelming generosity._ " There was a spark in Jack's eye. Christine pushed herself up onto a vacant table, taking hold of the man's collar and hauling him forward— her lips rested by his ear. "I'm up for suggestions."  
  
_"I've got a few ideas—_ _"_ his grin was something vile,   
  
The faint sound of giggling could be heard in an _ominous echo_ throughout the lobby.   
  
In room **33** , Christine sat up, awoken from a state of awful sleep, becoming aware of the sound of a large clock on the far East wall.  
  
Click, clack, click, clack. 


End file.
